Quiet now, they whisper.
Their fingers are like paintbrushes on my skin
Leaving deep red welts instead of paint smears.
Careful now, they hiss,
Their fingers to my lips and it burns and burns.
I cannot scream, they’ve shoved my sound deep
Into my chest, and it thrums there, boiling and burning
Thrashing like a caged animal.
Still, so still, looking into a black mirror
And the only thing I see is myself;
I can’t help but feel I’m drowning under water
But there is air in my lungs, however harsh it may be.
My reflection stares at me with the blankness of a porcelain doll.
Cold, quiet, smiling in a way that I am not
The body I am in does not smile,
But my reflection does.
She smiles wide and vicious, blinking in deceitful innocence.
And she moves out of the glass, the smoky tendrils
Of her fingertips
Wrap around my wrists, painting all the way down to the bone
And the rest of them silence my screams.